A Double Edged Sword
by iilaiia
Summary: Two brothers, one creature, its trap and some issues. Angst insues.
1. Sam

Okay so as far as this fic goes, here's my first posting for Supernatural, the show that's recently taken over my life. There is language in this fic and minor damage to the boys (heh heh) but that's all as far as warnings go. There's also really no plot. Really.

A Double-Edged Sword

-Sam-

"You know this is just ... weird right?" Dean's voice was tight and pinched. The way it was when he was scared and not trying to hiding it.

Sam sat on the cold ground, rubbing his face with his hands. "Yeah Dean, it's weird."

The elder brother nodding shakily and asked "but how, how did it happen? I don't remember you-" He stopped talking abruptly and Sam knew it was because he didn't want to say it. Sam sighed feeling suddenly very alone. It didn't seem to matter what he said because he hadn't been able to change Dean's mind. Yet he still tried. For the past hour he had tried to convince him, ever since they had woken up here.

"I'm not dead Dean. I'm right here." He reached through the bars towards his brother but it didn't matter. It never changed. And as always Dean reached forward for a second before wincing away. Heartbreaking to see the pain written clearly on his face, pain he normally locked away to protect Sam. Pain that he no longer bothered to hide because there was no point if Sam were dead. Sam shook his head frustrated. But he WASN'T dead, this was all some horrible delusion brought on by the creature that had trapped them here and was playing with them. "Dean, I'm right here." He didn't know what else to say.

He could see Dean trying to believe it, wanting to believe it and then, with the practiced strength that had been drilled into him by their father, pushing down what he wanted in order to face the truth. "Oh Sammy" Dean whispered more to himself now believing the lie even more fully. "What is Dad going to say?"

Their father, without him they would have been alone in the cold world to face the real demons, without him they would never have had the power to defend themselves and to stand up for good. Without their father Dean would have been able to break this delusion in a heart beat, the way Sam could because for some reason he'd never had the blind loyalty that Dean had had. Then again he hadn't had the responsibility that Dean had shouldered either. To Sam their father was a double edged sword, one that made you able to defeat any enemy but not without cutting yourself in the process.

Sam pounded on the bars with the flats of his hands. "Dean, Dad's not going to say anything because I'm fine. I'm right here!" But Dean was ignoring him, probably thinking it would be less painful to no longer interact with the creature that was cruelly torturing him. Sam had had enough. He couldn't stand to watch the agony sit on his brother's features. He couldn't handle the way Dean complacently didn't move from the corner of his cell, as if he was done and didn't need to move ever again. And Sam realized most of all, he couldn't deal with the idea that without him, Dean was nothing. Dean wasn't nothing, Dean COULD never be nothing. Dean was ... well, Dean was Dean. And right now he wasn't and damn it if Sam wasn't going to get his brother back.

Time to change tactics. Sam steeled himself with a short breath then plunged ahead. "I told you once that I didn't mean what I said at the asylum." Dean's head shot up and with an added sense of courage from that one singular motion Sam rushed on. "I'm taking that back. You are pathetic. You're just going to sit there and do nothing?"

"You want me to take revenge?" Dean was looking at him, something hard to describe burning in his eyes.

Sam had almost said yes, he had almost just agreed to force Dean to do anything but deep down, he didn't want revenge. If he had really died, it's not what he would have wanted for Dean and somehow that seemed to matter. "No, not revenge. I want you to get up and get yourself out of here." And me out too but we'll get to that later.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "How?"

Sam had been hoping he wouldn't ask that question. "I don't know, I just know that you have to try."

"No I don't."

Sam widened his eyes. "You ... don't? Yes you do!"

Dean sighed, a sigh of annoyance. "No I really don't Sammy. What's the point anyway? You don't want me to go kill the thing for you, I didn't figure you did, so what's the point?"

Sam felt his heart stop at those horrible words. What had he seen there in Dean's eyes?. The last embers of desire to do something? Sam's hope was fading away too. He wasn't sure if they could get out of this bazaar prison but sitting here watching crushed and defeated Dean was beyond him. He jumped to his feet and started tracing the wall of the prison with his hands. He felt a brick out of place suddenly and gave it an abrupt shove only to have it break into hundreds of pieces in his hands. The pieces fell to the ground leaving one large shard in Sam's hand. He studied it intently and somewhere in the back of his mind the thought that this was strangely convenient floated through but he pushed it back down and buried it. Frustration had given way to desperation and he walked over, shard in hand to the bars of his cage that separated him from his brother.

"Dean. Dean look at me!"

He looked up, cold dead eyes meeting shining desperate ones. "Dean, if I'm dead would I be able to do this?" He took the shard and viciously began to cut deep lines across his arm. Deep red blood welled up from the wounds and began running down his arm. Dean didn't make a sound. Sam was gasping in pain as he continued to cut lines down his arm trying to get any type of reaction from his brother. Dean ignored him completely.

Sam threw himself backwards against the wall of his cage and suddenly screamed out as loud as he could. All his pain, rage and horror voiced in one scream which tore across the room like a roll of thunder. His anger vented, Sam slumped down against the far wall he'd hit, cradling his arm and staring at his brother. Dean wasn't even looking at him and with absolute certainly Sam knew that this wasn't Dean. Dean, no matter how their father how trained him, no matter what facts lay before him would never have been able not to react to Sam hurting himself.

Never.

But it didn't make any sense because Sam could clearly FEEL Dean across the way from him. He didn't know how he knew that Dean was here, but he could feel that low hum that was Dean was near by. Sam staggered back to his feet just as a loud thumping noise coming from notDean's cell across from him started. He regained his feet then tripped and caught himself with his tore arm causing him to cry out with pain. The thumping increased just then and suddenly the brick wall exploded and as notDean faded gently away real Dean came crashing through the wall bricks and mortar falling around him. Dean stood there for a second, dust hovering around him from the wall's destruction and Sam smiled broadly. "Dean!"

Dean walked quickly across the cell to the bars. "Sam? Come here, are you hurt?" He demanded, gesturing for Sam to come to him. Sam came willingly, still smiling broadly. "What did it do to your arm?" Dean's concerned voice filled Sam with a type of joy he didn't know existed. Everything would be alright now. He had Dean back.

"It's fine. The cuts are small." This was, interestingly, a complete lie. He hadn't been able to make the cuts small and their situation was in no way fine but he couldn't help feeling light headed and almost giddy with relief. "You okay, man?"

Dean looked up from where he was smearing the blood away from the cuts on Sam's arm with his shirt to give him a 'are you crazy' look then just went back to cleaning the wounds as best he could. "Sammy, what made these? Claws? I didn't see any claws. Are you hurt anywhere else?" Dean seemed unusually obsessed with Sam's wounds and it was starting to freak Sam out.

"No, no I'm not hurt. What's wrong with you?" Sam ducked his head to make eye contact with his brother.

"Nothing's wrong with me. Jesus Sam, I hear you-" Dean paused for a moment, seemed to decide something then continued. "I heard someone screaming, I plunge through a wall here to save your sorry ass and here you are bleeding to death and all you can say is what's wrong with me?"

"I'm not bleeding to death!"

"Not now." Dean's smirk was back on his face.

Sam rolled his eyes in response, half knowing it was the reaction Dean wanted and half because GOD Dean could be so annoying. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"How are we going to do that? You going to smash through another wall?"

Dean smirked again. "Or we could just go through the door."

Sam followed Dean's glance over to the open door in his cell. "That doesn't strike you as too easy?"

Dean shrugged. "You could knock down your wall if you'd rather. I'm going through the door." With that he walked through the open door, there was a pause and Sam could hear Dean picking at the lock to the door to his cell.

"You know I was always better at picking the locks and you were only good for brute-" Dean swung the door open causing Sam to duck back "-force."

"Let's get out of here."

Dean and Sam raced through the hallway, finding a staircase out of the basement and up into the outside. The house they had been in was a small suburban home and they found themselves walking quickly down a sidewalk in the small community of Nowhere'sVille as Dean had put it so eloquently earlier.

"So what happened to us? I mean, we were caught up in, what? It's delusional death throws?" Sam was struggling to get a grip on all that had come about in the past hour of so.

"Yeah, Dad's journal said it could trap you right after you kill it. Some type of retaliation thing." Dean's words were clipped and flat. He was back to hiding.

Sam stopped walked, his arm was stinging. Dean paused beside him. "Dean, why did it... what's the purpose to its delusions?"

Dean looked at him strangely. "I don't know Sam, to punish you for killing it I guess."

"What did you see?" Sam was staring at Dean... really wondering if he actually tell him.

Dean's eyes hardened for a second. "Why'd you cut up your arm?"

They both fell into a silence and Sam nodded his understanding. They then continued down the street towards the waiting Impala, Dean's haven and Sam climbed in the passenger's side. Dean started the car and they drove off to the hotel where Dean would patch up Sam's arm, cross off another bad guy from his mental list and go back to pretending that nothing bad could ever happen to Sam. Sam sat in the car thinking about what had happened, his memories set to the roar of Metallica and suddenly the image of notDean asking him if he wanted revenge flashed unbidden into his mind. He remembered notDean's eyes and with real Dean sitting next to him humming to Metallica the expression was the same. He knew instantly what emotion had been burning in his eyes. Guilt. Sam could see it now, hidden but there in Dean's eyes.

Sam closed his eyes and sighed to himself. He loved his brother and he knew Dean loved him too and with that depth of love came responsibility, came fear and came pain. He knew that he could do anything for his brother and had proved that to Dean unknowingly with the wounds on his arm even through Dean hadn't even been there at the time. Still he wouldn't give it up and that was the final truth of the double-edged sword they welded. Sure, love hurt but without it you have nothing and nothing, Sam had learned, was much much worse.


	2. Dean

A Double Edged Sword

-Dean-

The bars were cold as Dean leaned against them waiting for Sam to wake up. Dean's eyes shot around the confines of their prison looking at the weak walls and wondering vaguely if he could knock the bricks out and barge through. He had half a mind to try when Sam came to consciousness violently and suddenly. Dean leapt to his feet mirroring his brother.

"Sam! Sam, you okay?" Dean called out because Sam was racing around the cell, frantically scanning the walls for a weakness. He had blood dripping down the side of his face. "Sam!" Dean tried desperately to get his brother's attention. Dean banged on the bars and Sam suddenly turned his way.

"What do you want? Wait... how do you know my name?" Sam's eyes were clouded.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "It's me Sammy, it's Dean."

Sam pointed directly at Dean, snarling. "Don't call me that. You're not Dean."

As Dean's fear began to grow, his exterior calm hardened. "Yes I am." He was irritated. Stupid demon that did this got Sam all confused. And that head wound wasn't helping any either, thought Dean suddenly angry at himself. He couldn't keep letting these things happen. "Come over here, let me see your gaping head wound."

Sam hesitated and then walked over to the bars, smiling sadly. "You sound like him though."

Dean growled under his breath. "There could be a reason for that Sam. You were always the logical one. What's the obvious answer?"

The younger Winchester leaned up against the bars as Dean checked his head. "The obvious answer. Doesn't that strike you as too obvious though?" Sam laughed dryly and without humor. It was a horrible sound.

Dean noted with growing apprehension Sam's wound seemed deep and the blood was flowing quite freely. Dean looked back over at his brother and saw with a rush of fresh fear how one pupil was dilated and the other wasn't. "You should sit down."

Sam pulled away, out of his brother's grasp. "I don't want to."

Dean rolled his eyes, this was not the time to be argumentative. "Sammy, you have a concussion."

"I told you NOT to call me that!" Sam yelled across the room from him. "No one calls me that. Only him and YOUR NOT HIM!" The energy of his anger gone, Sam took a breath and staggered down to his knees. He began coughing now, his body shaking as he vomited up blood onto the floor.

Dean felt a spike of panic rocket through his veins and he all but threw himself at the bars, rocking the prison. "Sam, you have to let me help you here! Come over here!"

Sam stayed where he was. The coughing subsiding slightly. He looked up at his brother, wiping the blood from the side of his mouth with his hand. "No. I don't have to do what you say. You're not my brother."

"Since when has that little fact ever mean you DID listen to me?" Dean was ready for a fight, at least it was something he could do. To stand here helplessly watching his little brother bleed to death in front of him was quite beyond his ability. Sam stayed silent and Dean pressed on. "This is your grand idea, to just sit there and puke your guts out. Come on Sammy! Sammy get up, come over here Sammy!" Dean could see the anger cloud up Sam's face at the nickname but Sam choose that moment to lurch over on to his side. His eyes closed and his face pinched up tightly with pain, he started breathing rapidly. A large pool of blood was forming where he lay on the floor. Dean started yelling his name when Sam went into convulsions and then lay still.

Dean stared at the body of his brother and focused intently on the blood flowing from his head. Every so slightly the blood stopped trickling through Sam's hair until the bloodflow stopped entirely. Dean felt a deep cold fill him. If Sam had stopped bleeding then he was certainly dead. Died here in this place. All emotions left him except for one profound and crushing one that was pounding on his heart, willing it to stop beating. Grief. Horrible, vicious grief. Sammy was dead. Sam, his charge, his responsibility, his brother, was dead.

He almost couldn't believe it. He didn't know how long he stood there, alternating between refusing to accept this and screaming his brother's name. Sam couldn't be dead. Oh God, Sammy was gone. No. Oh God. What would Dad say?

Absently Dean begin wandering his cell, his hands running over the bricks that made up the walls. The pieces that came off in his hands were sharp shards of rich red. Fitting as they looked like fragments of frozen blood. He held himself against the wall quietly and really thought about cutting his wrists right then and there. To hell with their father. He hadn't been here. Sam needed him and he hadn't come. Sam needed Dean to protect him and he had failed. A wave of cold agony burned through him. Sam didn't need anything anymore. It was too late. Without Sam, Dean's life felt meaningless. Pointless.

Dean looked down at his hands, a small smear of Sam's blood trickled down the side of his hand and Dean felt the emotions drain out of him as he watched the blood drip from his hand onto the floor. Dripping and splattering on the floor. Sam's blood on his hands.

There was a noise building from the place. It was familiar. Dean tried to focus on the noise and realized with abrupt certainly that it was Sam screaming. He spun around fast to look at Sam lying on the floor but the cell opposite him was empty. The pool of blood gone. He looked down at his hands and found them clean. No specs of blood on the floor. Sam's screaming was coming from the other direction. Anger hit him hard and fast. No one fucked with his family.

Dean plunged aggressively through the brick wall, mortar and bricks exploding around him in a great turret of dust and stone. He was in another cell separated by thick bars. Across the way he saw his brother smiling broadly. "Dean!" Later he would remember it as one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. 

Dean walked quickly across the cell to the bars. Strangely sure this was the real Sam now. It felt like waking up from a dream. "Sam? Come here, are you hurt?" He demanded, gesturing for Sam to come to him. This time Sam came quickly, no complaints. No mistrust. Then Dean noticed the deep slash makes on his arm "What did it do to your arm?"

"It's fine. The cuts are small." Sam said and Dean scoffed internally. Yeah sure. Sam continued, "you okay, man?"

Dean had started to dab at the cuts with the end of his shirt. He paused for a moment to look up at his brother and give him what he hoped was a good 'give me a break will ya?' look. Being okay didn't even start to cover it. When the joy threatened to turn embarrassing he decided to bring the subject back to what he knew Sam would deny. "Sammy, what made these? Claws? I didn't see any claws. Are you hurt anywhere else?" What had happened to Sam when they were separated? What was his fear? He had just seen his brother die. What horrors had Sam had to survive that would have pushed him to this?

Sam ducked his head trying to make eye contact with his brother. "No, no I'm not hurt. What's wrong with you?" Dean met his eyes. Sure Sam, you're not hurt. Just like I'm not scared out of my mind.

But Dean would never say that. "Nothing's wrong with me. Jesus Sam, I hear you-" Dean paused for a moment. Fine. If Sam didn't want to share that was okay for now. Dean didn't particularly want to tell him what had happened to him either. "I heard someone screaming, I plunge through a wall here to save your sorry ass and here you are bleeding to death and all you can say is what's wrong with me?"

"I'm not bleeding to death!"

"Not now." Dean smirked, letting his terror wash through him. No, thank God, not this time.

Sam rolled his eyes and Dean knew suddenly that everything was okay. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"How are we going to do that? You going to smash through another wall?"

Dean smirked again. "Or we could just go through the door."

Sam followed Dean's glance over to the open door in his cell. "That doesn't strike you as way to easy?"

Dean shrugged, pushing down a rush of fear at the similar conversation he'd just had. "You could knock down your wall if you'd rather. I'm going through the door." With that he walked through the open door finding himself in a hallway and quickly located the other side of Sam's door. He could hear his brother whining through the door but this lock was easy.

"You know I was always better at picking the locks and you were only good for brute-" Dean swung the door open causing Sam to duck back "-force."

"Let's get out of here."

They raced through the hallway, finding a staircase out of the basement and up into the outside. The house they had been in was a small suburban home and they found themselves walking quickly down a sidewalk in this freaky place.

"So what happened to us? I mean, we were caught up in its delusions, right?" Sam's voice was shaky.

Dean spared a glance as his younger brother. Sam looked badly shaken. Time to spin some light damage control. "Yeah, Dad's journal said it could trap you right after you kill it. Some type of retaliation thing."

Sam stopped walked and as Dean stopped beside him he could see that his arm was hurting him. I'm sorry kiddo. I'm sorry. "Dean, why did it... what's the purpose to it's delusions?"

Dean looked at him Sam. You don't want to do this. "I don't know Sam, to punish you for killing it I guess."

"What did you see?" Sam was staring at Dean.

Dean's eyes hardened for a second. You really wanna share? Then you first. "Why'd you cut up your arm?"

Sam didn't answer, instead he nodded slightly and followed Dean to his car. Dean slide into the driver's seat watching concerned as Sam eased himself into the passenger's side. Dean pealed out of the spot towards the relative safety of their current hotel. This was not going to happen again. He couldn't let it happen again. He shouldn't have even let it happen this time. Dean berated himself. When Sam had been little it had been much easier to protect him. Beat up the bully's that tried to knock him down, make sure the fridge always had food. Now Sam was an adult and a hunter but still the same fragile kid underneath. The same reactions to things and the same frustrating ability to get himself into trouble.

Dean was aware of Sam looking at him, thinking. Dean just stared ahead, tracing the lines of the road with his eyes and swearing to himself for the millionth time that this would be the last time Sammy got hurt. He sighed lightly knowing it was a pretty stupid thing to pledge. The only real way to assure that Sam would stay safe would be to keep him in his normal life. To bring him back to Stanford and leave him there and never look back. Dean also knew it was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do. He'd been right before, his life without Sam was pointless. Sam gave his life meaning by staying with him and Dean would continue to protect him as best he could.

Not good enough. The wayward thought flew through his head and he started humming to the song in the car. The Metallica soothed him as he drove on. Dean could weld the sword with all the skill of a master and yet no matter how many demons he killed and how much good he did with it, he also always managed to cut Sam too.


End file.
